


the best is yet to come.

by milominderbinder



Series: maia's shameless fic a day in the month of may [26]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Bad Birthday Memories, Birthday Party, Fluff, French Toast, M/M, past angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-26
Updated: 2014-05-26
Packaged: 2018-01-27 02:42:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1712018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milominderbinder/pseuds/milominderbinder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Mickey's nineteenth birthday - the first one he's had since coming out and moving in with the Gallaghers.  And he's a little unused to their method of celebrating.</p><p>Namely, the fact that they celebrate at <i>all</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the best is yet to come.

When Mickey stumbles down the Gallagher kitchen the morning of his birthday, he's met by every single other occupant of the house staring at him.

“ _Huh_?” he mumbles, because he’s only been up for three minutes and he’s still blearily rubbing sleep out of his eyes and he’s only wearing a pair of Ian’s sweatpants, and really, six people all staring at him from various points around the room is very bizarre.  Lip, Ian, and Liam are all sat at the table, but Debbie and Carl and Fiona are over by the stove, clanging around with pans and mixing bowls and spatulas and far too much complicated looking kitchen shit.  Mickey has no idea what’s going on - but they seem to be expecting him to do _something._

“French toast!” says Debbie after a moment, waving a pan at him.  Fiona shoots him a wry smile, and flips the bit of toast in _her_ pan.  Like that’s supposed to make things clearer.

“It’s tradition in our family,” Ian explains, clearly noticing Mickey’s confusion and taking pity.  “French toast for breakfast every time it’s someone’s birthday.  Fiona makes the best French toast in the fuckin’ _state.”_

Everyone seems to have recovered from the shock of his arrival and stopped staring at him, but Mickey only has more questions, and his eyebrows shoot up with surprise.  What are the chances of someone else in the house being born on the same day as him?

“Whose birthday?” he asks, interestedly, as Debbie hands him a plate.  For a moment, everyone drops silent, and he feels six pairs of eyes on him again.  It’s even creepier now.

“ _Yours,”_ Carl says, finally.  Which is possibly the most surprising answer Mickey could have gotten.

“It is, right?” Debbie checks, her brow furrowing with concern.  “Ian was _sure_ it was today, and Mandy said it was too, but if it’s -”

“Nah, it is,” he says, shifting his weight from foot to foot awkwardly, rubbing his lip.  “I just didn’t figure you guys - knew, or whatever.”

 _Cared,_ is what he wants to say, but that seems needlessly emotional and whiny and whatever, he’s been living with them for a few months now but nobody other than Ian has ever give any indication that they _like_ him much.  And now here they are, making him French toast?  He’s confused as fuck.

Still, he never turns down a good meal, so he lets Debbie load his plate high, and grabs the syrup off Ian.  Might as well go all out.

\--

For Mickey’s fifth birthday, his dad gave him a broken arm - he’d been blocking the TV.  His mom had been passed out on the couch the whole day.  Mandy had been too young to remember things like that, back then.

He hadn’t even realised it was his birthday until the day was already over.  He saw it scrawled in the calendar in the kitchen, _November twelfth, Mickey’s birthday,_ in his mom’s messy writing.  If it hadn’t have been for that, he would have still thought he was four.

He was too young to realise that for some people, birthdays _meant_ something.

\--

When Mickey finishes his second helping of French toast - Fiona’s really _is_ the best he’s ever tasted, they weren’t lying - he awkwardly escapes upstairs.  Goes to sit on his and Ian’s bed, which is actually Lip’s old bed, which he still thinks is kind of weird, because this is probably the bed Lip used to fuck Mandy in.  Still.  That’s not his biggest concern just then; he sits there, lights up a cigarette, tries not to think about how fucking _bizarre_ and vaguely unsettling the idea of actually celebrating his birthday is.

Ian follows him up after only a minute, of course.  Mickey was kind of enjoying just being alone, but Ian doesn’t really count as _people,_ so he’s still glad to see him.  Ian’s smiling, and he has jelly smudged on one corner of his lips, because he’s the kind of weirdo who puts jelly on his French toast.  Mickey’s a syrup guy - he wonders if that will cause problems in their relationship.

“Birthday blowjob?” Ian asks, grinning, when he enters their room.  He doesn’t wait for a response, just pulls the slightly broken sliding door as shut as it will go, and then drops to his knees, tugging at Mickey’s belt.  And - _well._ Mickey’s still feeling weird, but he’s not the type to ever turn down a blowjob, so he lets Ian pull out his dick and go to town on it.

Only, he’s still distracted, and for some reason it doesn’t feel as good as usual.

“You wanna show some interest?” Ian asks, exasperated, after a few minutes, when Mickey's only half hard and not showing much appreciation for it.  Mickey sighs, closes his eyes for a second.

“Sorry, man,” he says, though he’s not quite sure why he’s apologising.  “It’s just - birthdays.  They’re - they’re weird, right?”

Ian pauses for a moment, then gets up off the floor to sit beside Mickey on the bed.

“I guess,” he says.  “I always like my birthday, though.  French toast and presents and parties and shit.  It’s fun.”

Mickey shakes his head a little, clears his throat.  He feels like he can’t quite understand anything that’s going on, can’t quite process it, and can’t quite respond to it either - everything’s just a little _fuzzy,_ and he doesn’t like it.

“Why’d you have to fuckin’ tell everyone,” he mumbles, quietly.  “I don’t want everyone making a fuss, I hate this kind of shit.”

“Oh,” says Ian.  There’s a moment of awkward silence, and Mickey stares down at his dick, which is still hanging out of his jeans.  “I - I’m sorry.  I kind of figured your birthdays always sucked growing up, just from, like, what you’ve said, and what Mandy’s said about hers - but, y’know, you’re basically a Gallagher now, and we go big for this kind of thing.” 

“ _Why?”_ Mickey asks.  He doesn’t even try to deny that he’s part of the family, but he does have to admit that he still doesn’t understand how they _work,_ most of the time.  “It’s not like there’s much to celebrate, living around here.”

“Living around here just means we have _more_ to celebrate,” Ian says, in the tone of voice he uses when he thinks Mickey’s being an idiot but doesn’t want to say it.  “You made it through another year, Mickey.  You’re alive, and you’re happy, and you’re in a way better place than you were one year ago.  You’re growing up, shit’s getting better - you made it through another year.  You did.” 

And.  Mickey’s never thought of it like that.  He’s always kind of looked at it as another year of shit coming up, but the idea that he’s better off this birthday than he was on the same day one year ago - that almost _is_ a cause for celebration.

He thinks about it for one long moment, and suddenly the world seems a little sharper again.  Then he decides that’s enough emotional shit for one day, and glances over at Ian, smiles. 

“Okay, thanks for the fuckin’ therapy, get back to the suckin’,” he says.  Ian laughs, too loud, but gets back on his knees.

Presents he’s not sure about, but a birthday blowjob, he can get behind.

\-- 

Mandy was the only one who ever gave him a present on his birthday.  It was always little things - a t-shirt, some hair gel, whatever.  The first year after she found out he was gay, she got him a dildo, and he nearly punched her.

She’d never just _give_ them to him, though.  She’d wrap them up in what seemed like a hundred sheets of newspaper and hide a fuckin’ piece of _candy_ in between each layer, like he was a kid playing pass the parcel.  And then she’d sneak into his room while he was sleeping and leave the parcel on his pillow, so it was the first fuckin’ thing he’d see when he woke up.

He never mentioned the presents, and she never did, either.  But she’d smile whenever she saw him using whatever shit it was she’d given him.  And he’d feel a little better, just knowing that he’d made her feel like she was doing something good.

\--

Mickey avoids everyone but Ian for the rest of the day, but that evening, he notices strange things are happening.  Fiona produces a few industrial sized bags of chips, and Carl’s throwing streamers everywhere, and Mandy turns up and hugs him, and then Kev and Vee arrive, sans babies, and Vee kisses him on the cheek, and Kev wishes him a happy birthday.

It’s not until Kev turns on the music that Mickey realises they’re throwing him a _party._

Pretty much everyone starts dancing, straight away, the beers come out and so does the weed, and there’s laughing and happiness, and people keep trying to grab hold of him, get him to dance, to join in.  Ian’s making these dumb fucking pouty faces, but Mickey doesn’t quite know what to do - he wasn’t programmed for this.  He wasn’t programmed for people _giving_ a shit, basically.  And he knows they’re probably enjoying this more than he is, but still, it’s _for_ him.  He’s never had much that was for him, really.  He’s not sure how it works.

His conversation with Ian earlier had made him feel kind of better, but in the end, it’s Fiona who ends his internal conflict.  Which is ridiculous, because what she says doesn’t even really _matter,_ it’s such a small comment, but somehow, it just fixes everything about the whole day.  She comes over while he’s hovering in the kitchen, trying to avoid everyone, and she picks up a slice of the cake Debbie had made, takes a huge bite, the frosting covering her lips and smushing down her chin.  Mickey has to laugh at that; not even he eats as messily as Fiona, and he finds it kind of hilarious. They stand in silence together for a moment while she chews, and then she licks her fingers and gives Mickey a small, one-armed hug.

“Gallaghers never miss a chance for a party,” she says.  Then she opens a beer, hands it to him, and winks.

And Mickey remembers what Ian had said earlier - that he’s basically a Gallagher now.

So he thinks, screw it.  Downs his beer, grabs a joint, and goes to dance with his boyfriend.

He thinks maybe birthdays aren’t so bad.

**Author's Note:**

> for the fic a day in may... i feel like this story didn't quite go anywhere in particular, but i've been staring at it for days trying to get it to make a point and it hasn't, so i slapped an ending on and i'm presenting it as its slightly odd, pointless self. um. hope you liked it?
> 
> find me on tumblr: [mickeymilk](http://mickeymilk.tumblr.com)


End file.
